


Ooops...I, did it again

by LizzyGal



Series: Toxic [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Asshole steve rogers, Blood, Come as Lube, Creampie, Dark, Dark!Steve, F/M, Hydra Steve Rogers, Improper use of an ice pick, Lube, Nipple Piercings, Not Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Shower Sex, Smut, Stalking, Talk of murder, Vaginal Fingering, Violent Thoughts, dark themes, hydra!steve, this is pretty filthy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:48:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25630816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizzyGal/pseuds/LizzyGal
Summary: :::Sequel to "Drive me Crazy":::Captain Hydra is back, with his wife, for another night of chaos and mayhem.But will Mrs. Hydra survive the night?
Relationships: Steve Rogers & Reader
Series: Toxic [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1857811
Comments: 45
Kudos: 151





	Ooops...I, did it again

Steve was really regretting burning down the house you two shared.

Ok, so sure, Brock Rumlow’s blood had gotten absolutely everywhere in his home office. It would have taken more time and effort to clean it, than it did to burn it.

However, had he known that he’d be surrounded by the who’s who of Hydra, and their nosey wives on a cul-de-sac, he wouldn’t have burnt down the whole house. Had he known, he would have just burnt the office and your bedroom, maybe the kitchen too. Steve hated your old bedroom. Just how much chenille did one person need? 

Had he known now, that Alexander Pierce would take this opportunity, to place the two of you in Hydra’s version of white picket suburbia? Steve would have done everything differently.

For the third night in a row, he was trapped in the house, pacing around like a caged lion.

It was getting ridiculous.

He was driving you crazy.

“Maybe you should burn down one of the neighbors houses to create a distraction?” You suggested to your husband, somewhat cheekily, as you put the finishing touches on your red toenails. “You’re quite the skilled firebug. According to Forensic Files, it’s a compulsion and you won’t be able to help yourself from reoffending.”

Steve hated it when you painted your nails in bed. Despised it really. 

Not because you got nail polish everywhere. But because it was deeply distracting. You’d pull your nightgown up to practically your waist, which was the exact reason why he’d outlawed the nude at night mandate, shortly after it was put into effect. You were a problem. Steve found himself unable to focus with you scurrying around the house, undressed, trying hard to cover your nudity. Which just seemed to infuriate him and before he knew it, he would have you bent over the nearest flat surface to cure his painful erection.

A floor length nightgown from the thirties should have done it. He ordered them by the dozen online. And since the two of you shared a bedroom in this new home, it should have fixed everything. They came in colors of peach or soft yellow, sky blue or a ugly powder pink, even a minty green. It should have helped him stay focused. It should have guaranteed he keep his hands off you.

As always, since you were involved, there was a problem.

The fabric was so soft, so thin.

It allowed him to see your body beneath the fabric and those piercings in your nipples. The sight of them, through fabric, was more erotic than it should have been, in his honest opinion.

As you blew on your toenails and surveyed them closely, you offhandedly told him, “You should just go for a run tonight. You need to burn off some energy before tomorrow. Or, you’ll just be more miserable than usual, and there’s not gonna be an epic evening of boning excellence tonight. Not with these in my hair. I have to look perfect.”

Tomorrow, a new Hydra supported Security Academy was opening and Director Pierce himself was cutting the red tape. Captain Hydra would be there, in his Hydra Suit, to give a talk to the first class. Since your younger brother Peter had been selected to be in said first class, you had to be there and look the part.

Your hair was in rollers. Therefore, the most physical contact your husband got when you had to sleep in rollers, to prepare for a day of being paraded around as Mrs Hydra, was a satisfying fist bump.

Glaring at the back of your head, he knew you were right.

Everything had to be perfect tomorrow.

If there was any hint that he wasn’t the shining example of Hydra Reform, things would be very bad. If you weren’t the perfect little Hydra Citizen to inspire a generation, who knew what would happen to you.

“Pierce stays up late. You know that,” Steve snarled back at you, peering once more out the window in your master bedroom. From it, he could see the well-lit house across the street that belonged to the Hydra Security Director.

After capping the bottle of nail polish, you began to blow on your toes, “So.”

He honest to god, could not believe, he had to spell this out for you. 

Turning around, Steve glowered at you disdainfully, as only he could. “So? He’ll invite himself along, again, like he does every time he sees me going out for a night run.”

You weren’t stupid.

You could hear his scorn.

Which led you to grab your iPad. So you could play your fish aquarium game while your toes dried, propped up on the footboard, so as not to get nail polish on the white sheets. Not only was your bed small, a double. But it was so boring. Basic furniture straight out of IKEA. Barely any color. No pictures of anything remotely personal. The most color in the space came from the wood floor. It was almost like Steve didn’t want to decorate. Decorate beyond whatever Hydra Officials had done when they gave him the keys to this place, after he burnt down your old home. As if your husband didn’t want to get attached, or it to feel like a home. “So. Maybe if you and Alexander go running at night, he’ll invite you to his hunting trip this fall? You gotta add some variety in your killing, dear sweet husband of mine. Or you’re gonna get caught. That’s why serial killers get caught. They become complacent. You don’t shit where you eat.”

Steve could not even begin to keep his disbelief from his tone. Sometimes you were just out of your goddamn mind. “What?!”

You grunted, much like a wounded animal if Steve had to say, in annoyance. You rolled your eyes hard and looked up from your tablet. “Do you not pay attention to anything I watch?”

Clearly he did not, not with that disdainful expression on his face.

“You’ve got to diversify your killing spree, or you’ll get caught. Throw in a few abductions with no body, for crying out loud. Not every crime needs a body,” your hands gestured empathetically. “Pierce is just dying to get you more involved in shit. If you can get invited up to his huge cabin for the hunting trip, you’d have your pick for victims of Hydra’s Who’s Who. Half those jackasses are out to get one another. You could probably kill all of them and blame it on one, if you planned it out just right. A whole week in the woods, at the lodge, with those idiots has tragic hunting accident written all over it.” You then gave him a knowing look and began to bounce your toes, for air flow over the wet polish.

With a snarl, your husband, THE Captain Hydra, turned from the window and stormed around the bed. “I’m going for a run. Don’t wait up.”

It wasn’t what you said that pissed him off. It was that you had to say it.

It was a good idea.

Steve was irritated he hadn’t thought of it first.

***

You didn’t jump, when he slammed the front door on his way out.

You waited until you saw him jog past the window and sure enough, you watched him slow and the front door of the house across the street open. An evil little smile grew over your lips, as you watched Alexander Pierce come from his house and wave Steve down.

You waited a few more moments, before hurrying away from the window.

Scurrying really.

One could not make time with wet toenails. 

You hurried down the hallway, your peachy gown with matching robe flowing behind you, because you knew exactly how much time you had to work with. Scurrying all the way to the front door, you made sure to lock it and with foam dividers on your toes, you continued your trek all the way to the kitchen. After acquiring a flashlight, you slipped on a pair of flipflops and ran out the backdoor.

Quickly, you hurried across the perfect yard and out the well-oiled back gate, scurrying in your flops.

You were late.

Fast as your legs would carry you, hiking your long nightgown up, you ran back through the grassy pathway between two fences. Curlers bouncing on your head. Flashlight in hand, but not on, for fear someone might see it.

Maybe flipflops weren’t the best?

But you didn’t want to ruin your nail polish.

Upon reaching the end of the neighborhood, which felt like a zillion miles, you did turn on your flashlight, but quickly turned it off as soon as it went on.

And again, quickly.

Over in the distance. In the way yonder distance, you saw two flashes of light.

And that was the direction in which you scurried.

Rollers bouncing against the top of your head with every step. When you came to the spot where the light had been, a community mailbox, you stopped. 

No one was there.

However, on the ground, after some searching with your own flashlight, you spotted the envelope with a rock on it. You grabbed it, shoving it quickly in your robe pocket.

In return, you pulled an envelope from your other pocket and set that under said rock.

After standing, you clicked your flashlight on and off quickly, then turned and fled, as quickly as possible. Knowing just exactly how long you could risk being gone and you were within your window.

Steve would be gone for a while.

And he was gone for a while, nearly three hours.

After his first run with Pierce, Steve went for a second run to clear his head. Meaning, by the time he returned to the new house, it was well into the midnight hour and you were long since asleep.

Steve was quiet when he heard how silent the house was and as he locked the back door, he glanced down.

Your flipflops weren’t in the same spot.

His jaw clenched.

This was not the first time you’d been out when he was running. Which led him into the depths of the kitchen, to the cabinets, where he opened one to yank out a box of sugary cereal. One you loved that had a tiger on the side. He thought it was disgusting. Steve’d only been forced to eat it during an emergency week. When you’d been under the weather with menstruation related issues and he’d nearly run out of food to eat, not realizing how frequently you apparently went food shopping.

Sure enough, a new envelope was in your cereal-less cereal box.

Last Steve counted, there were four filled with cash. Now there was five. 

He didn’t count it. He didn’t need to. The mere fact that you were hiding money that smelled like another man made him see red.

Careful not to damage the box, he placed it back in the cabinet. Mindful to not slam the door, Steve took a deep calming breath that didn’t help. 

He’d been a fool.

He’d found himself somewhat enjoying your companionship. Up until he found your box of cash. He’d found himself less annoyed by your rambling. He had grown to look forward to the carnal time he spent with you. Your cooking still was horrible. But, you tried, you genuinely tried and somehow that had made it ok. 

And then he found the cash.

Was he ever glad he had not allowed himself to become attached to you? And he told himself, convinced himself, that it was in case he had to kill you. If you were a spy for Hydra, Steve didn’t want to deal with that on his conscience too. Hydra had made him watch Peggy die during his reeducation. He wasn’t going to get attached to anyone, ever again. Steve couldn’t live through that again. He’d live with you, but he wouldn’t become attached to you. He’d take care of you, but he wouldn’t love you. He’d fuck you, but he wouldn’t make love to you. He’d never kiss you. Peggy had kissed him. It’d been so pure, filled with unconditional love and true feelings.

Fists clenched, Steve walked through the dark quiet house. 

Your shared bedroom was dark, but his enhanced vision let him see everything. Indeed, you were in bed, asleep on your side. Hair up in rollers that could not have been comfortable to sleep in. 

Fists clenched.

It would be so easy. He could do it while you slept, you’d hardly feel a thing.

But no, no.

He wanted to know what you were doing.

He wanted to know who was giving you money. Hydra? Someone else?

What were you selling that was so valuable?

Standing there for a few moments, he watched you sleep, so unaware of how close your life came to ending. Not since the night of your wedding, did you come so close to dying young.

Steve found himself thinking about it. How you’d slept so peacefully, after he’d done his duty and consummated the sham that Director Pierce insisted would complete his integration into Hydra.

He remembered he hadn’t done it that night, beside you in his old bed in the house you two used to share, because he was tired of killing. He was tired of death. That hadn’t lasted long. But, a week out of the reeducation program and he was tired, so he simply watched you sleep.

Disgusted, he turned and went into the bathroom to shower, stuck in those thoughts from that night.

_”So how do we do this,” you had asked, he remembered, so nervous, twisting your hands as you looked at the old metal frame bed with a small mattress, then to your new husband, not even old enough to drink._

_It was the first thing you’d said to him that day that wasn’t scripted, or part of the vows you’d recited before the judge._

_You still had on your dress, a simple white dress with half-length sleeves that hit your knees, was tailored in at the waist in a fashion that reminded him of a garden party._

_You were prepared._

_You’d been prepped from the reeducation classes._

_You’d been picked to be Captain Hydra’s wife. There were expectations of you. Even if your new husband didn’t seem that interested in you, you knew that the fate of your family relied on keeping Captain Steve Rogers happy._

_When he looked at you, it was with a mix of confusion and maybe even a hint of annoyance._

_He took your words literally. “You’re a virgin?”_

_A bark of laughter came from you in surprise and was followed by nervous giggling, that he did not find at all amusing. Which led to more giggling from you. A blush you felt heated up your face and when you saw his unamused face, you made yourself cough trying to be serious. Which just led him to yank off his tie and shrug out of his jacket._

_“No, no I’m not.”_

_As he tossed his suit jacket onto a chair in the corner with his tie, he rolled his eyes and began to unbutton the cuffs of his dress shirt. To say Steve wasn’t thrilled that he had to inseminate this young woman, was an understatement. He’d been somewhat relieved to see the contraband birth control pills in your makeup bag. At least you weren’t one of the totally brainwashed women that came out of the reeducation program. “You have a boyfriend?”_

_It did not escape his notice that you watched him undress, but stayed clothed yourself._

_You shook your head, your neatly pinned up hair didn’t move._

_“No. We broke up before I went in the program. He…he didn’t have to be reeducated. But he was it. I mean, he was the only person I ever…I’m clean. But of course, you know that. You would have seen all my medical records and stuff.” You blew out a breath and looked at him expectantly, ran your hands down your sides and waited for Steve to speak._

_That was something of a relief._

_He hadn’t wanted you to be a virgin. Your first time should have been special. You were so young, so much had been taken from you already. This should have been special for you. Hell, it should have been special for him. But those days were gone. That was over, for all of you._

_“Take your clothes off and get up on the bed. There’s lube in the nightstand drawer on the left. I’ll make this as quick as possible.”_

Shedding off his running clothes, Steve turned the water on in the shower and then looked in the big mirror above the vanity.

A mix of his and your bathroom items covered the counterspace, mostly yours.

Seeing himself in the mirror was always so painful.

Steve almost wished he never got woken up from the ice. 

Cold blue eyes stared back at him, as if reminding him how alone he was and how he couldn’t even trust the woman in his bed. He was an idiot for thinking that you might have been too naïve to betray him.

He’d hoped you were just in a hard place like him.

You’d never done anything to make him suspicious. You never did anything to make him wonder. Every time your mouth opened was like a confirmation of this, and then there was your body. 

What self-respecting Hydra Operative read trashy magazines, argued with him every second of the day, dressed like an obscenity and pierced their breasts? Who did that?

It had completely shocked him when he saw you first undressed.

_He’d heard you get on the bed and dig around for the bottle of lube. As he shed his clothing, he heard you squirt out a copious amount and settle on his bed. Steve couldn’t help but be annoyed at your wastefulness._

_“Would it be ok if we didn’t…you know…kiss? That’s a bit intimate for me and…”_

_“It’s fine,” Steve breathed out, unable to hide his annoyance as he kicked off his slacks and boxer briefs._

_Not kissing you was fine, great even. It was something he didn’t have to fake. It was something that he could keep to himself, for himself._

_You breathed out in relief._

_Sex you could do. Just looking at the sight of his penis, you were going to have to seriously focus, but you could do this. Kissing though, that was a no. You couldn’t hold it together if you had to kiss him. You’d kissed your Aunt May goodbye. You kissed your brother Peter goodbye. You’d kissed your parents goodbye on the night they died. And when your Grandmother and Uncle Ben passed away, you’d kissed them goodbye too. Kisses were for family. Kisses were for people you loved. Kisses were something sacred, something that you needed to hold close to your soul for your own wellbeing._

_You leaned back and rested your head on the two basic white pillowcase covered pillows._

_When he turned, he paused._

_You knew it wasn’t because you were copiously lubing yourself up, like you were an Indy Race Car. Steve’s striking eyes never made it that low._

_Jesus was that a big dick. It was uncircumcised too._

_You were somewhat relieved that this was going to be quick. You were going to have to consult the internet, to see what the hell you were supposed to do with that, in the future._

_With a slippery hand, you set the bottle of lube on the nightstand._

_Steve, you noticed, was staring at your breasts and you quickly realized what was wrong. Your piercings. You hadn’t even thought about them and him. Being from the thirties though, he’d probably never have seen any. “Do you want me to take them out?”_

_Quickly, he shook his head. “No…no, it’s fine.”_

_He crossed the room, undressed, nothing but muscle upon muscle under smooth pale skin that hinted at his Irish roots. Those eyes of his were locked onto the little hot pink hoops through your nipples._

_Something was different. He cocked his head to the side, plopping down on the side of the bed. “Can I touch them? Will it hurt you?”_

_You glanced down to look at your breasts. It was either that, or looking at the size of your husband and the monster that was between his legs. Jesus Roosevelt Christ, you were going to have to dig deep and practice your yoga breathing to take that. It easily dwarfed the size of your first boyfriend and was so much thicker, way thicker._

_“No, they’re all healed up. Touch away.”_

_When he looked at your naked breasts, he looked at you like you weren’t about to put a knife in his back. There was something almost human there, when he looked at your naked body._

_It was the piercings._

_Normal people got piercings. Young people pierced things. People who weren’t trying to toe the line and come off as something they weren’t pierced their bodies._

_You pushed back into the bedding when his far larger hands took your breasts. As your new husband began to tweak your nipples, you bit your lip. A hiss escaped from you when his wet mouth sucked one of your nipples, your entire breast into his mouth, circling the tissue with his tongue._

_You hadn’t been expecting that at all._

_His other hand remained on your free breast and when you opened your eyes again, looking down, you watched him slowly amble on top of your hips, straddle your thighs with his. Fully intent on exploring your breast with his mouth and tongue and lips and teeth._

_Who knew Captain Amer, Captain Hydra was a breast man?_

_A gasp escaped from you, when you realized, that the solid weight resting on your abdomen, was his very erect penis._

_Almost painfully, his teeth tugged on the small hot pink hoop. There was a sharp pain in your nipple followed by a lovely tingle._

_“Shit…” you hissed, hands empty and needing something to grasp. But not him. Not that head of golden hair. Not yet. You weren’t ready yet. You weren’t ready to touch him yet._

_It would be a couple weeks before you were able to touch him in bed._

_Shit did he know how to touch a woman though._

_When he’d about made you crazy with one breast, he hungrily switched to the other, as if something had changed. It felt like you had a starving man straddling you. With every attention he laved upon your neglected breast, you could feel him quite obviously thrust against your body. His monster dick felt quite easily three times its size between your bodies, where you were unable to see it._

_Nervously, you moved beneath him._

_Taking that as a sign, Steve sank a hand between you to feel if you needed more lube. Surprisingly, in addition to the lube was your thicker and stickier arousal, a lot of it. Telling him, he was not the only one to get aroused from your breasts._

_“You’re not going to fit,” you whined, perhaps a bit anxiously._

_“It’ll fit,” he assured you, not releasing your breast, either of them. Not when he withdrew his fingers and took himself in hand, swiping through your folds, so wet and soft and a reprieve from the hell his life had become._

_At the feeling of his rounded tip against you, you tensed, you tried to move._

_“Relax,” he told you, pushing into you. “It’s just like before with your boyfriend.”_

_In response, you shook your head, “My boyfriend wasn’t a freaking super solder! Jesus Christ! You’re huge…”_

_And god was he big._

_Your first time hadn’t been this uncomfortable._

_Steve pushed in slowly, spearing you, piercing you, stretching parts of you that had previously been intact. Ripping a soft gasp from you. Making your hands sink into his pillow and your hips widen to accommodate him._

_He was too big, he wasn’t going to fit. Straight up, you thought you were going to pass out._

_There wasn’t enough lube on earth._

_His hand left your breast for your clit, his mouth began to kiss its way up your collarbone to your neck. Which was worse somehow. Your body began to move in response to the stimulation and he sank in another inch, and another and you let out a cry. You arched up on his pillows to make room between your thighs for him._

_Those last few inches were a fight. Something came over him and Steve pushed the rest of the way in._

_Seeing you delirious was it._

_Seeing your eyes so confused, your mouth so wide and all those noises that came from you. Steve wasn’t sure if you were having sex with your former boyfriend or not. All he knew was he’d never been inside a tighter, wetter more responsive woman. He was eager to make you come just to see what you looked like. He wanted to make you climax. He needed to make you orgasm. He couldn’t explain it. He just needed to do it._

Something caught Steve’s attention, pulled him from his troubled thoughts.

An unfamiliar little jingle. Followed by sounds of you waking suddenly, struggling, the bed making loud squeaky noises.

You never were one to wake up gently.

Making the decision, Steve quickly turned off the shower and bathroom lights.

Naked as he was the day he was born, Steve was quiet as possible as he listened.

In the dark of the bedroom, except for a glow through the window from an outside street light, Steve was easily able to make out the sight of you. Sprawling across your pillow and into a lower drawer on your nightstand, which you yanked open and dug through until you procured a pay-as-you-go phone.

Which further just bewildered him to the point of anger.

You could not be some sort of an imbedded spy. You just couldn’t. You couldn’t even drink from a travel cup and drive at the same time. You were not capable of pulling off a double life. Right? If not for that cereal box full of cash and evidence of your leaving the house earlier, he wouldn’t have believed his suspicions.

Finally, you answered the ringing cell phone.

“Yeah…”

All the way into the bathroom, Steve couldn’t quite make out what the person on the other end was saying, yet he could tell it was a male’s voice.

In response to whatever was said, you gasped and then swore.

“Ok…I’ll go now, yeah, ok…yeah I can go and make sure it’s taken care of…no, Steve’s away tonight. Ok. Yes, that was delivered earlier and I passed on your message. Yep…no I’ll remember…no I don’t need to write it down…like for realsies I’m super duper positive…ok, bye…”

It took everything in Steve, to not roll his eyes at your utter incompetence. 

Yet, he peered out of the dark bathroom to watch you bounce out of your marital bed. He watched you shed you nightgown as quick as possible, and then yank open a bottom drawer in the dresser and yank on a pair of black jeans. A black button up blouse. Which was odd, as you hung all your jeans and blouses in the closet. Steve was even more surprised to see you pull a handgun from the dresser drawer and shove that in the front of your denim waistband, then hurry from the bedroom.

At that, he did roll his eyes.

Who in their right mind would give you a gun?

Sounds of you loudly running around the house filled his ears and only when you ran outside, in flipflops with your rollers in your hair, did Steve leave the master bathroom. He continued to shake his head at the sight of you standing out in the driveway, handbag on your arm, wearing those flipflops as you took rollers from your hair, clearly waiting on someone.

As fast as was possible, he yanked on some clothes and then in even more disbelief, he watched as a neon green Dodge Charger zoomed up to the curb with an Uber sticker in the back window. Green lights shone from underneath the loud, customized, hardly discreet sportscar.

Steve supposed he shouldn’t have been shocked.

You would take a bright green Uber to a clandestine midnight meeting, driven by someone with absolutely no regard for the laws of interstate travel.

***

After telling your trusty Uber driver, Chad, where to go, you began to really focus on taking the rollers from your hair.

In the time it took Chad to speed to a less than desirable part of the Greater Metropolitan DC Area, you had them all out and in your purse, which had two envelopes of cash that you probably were going to have to dig into. You’d already dug out some money for Chad and by the time he pulled up onto a curb, somewhat crooked, you handed him a wad of bills and scooted towards back passenger door. 

“Circle the block…but like, not obviously…like circle eights or something dude. I’ll be back.”

Chad saluted you with a can of energy drink in hand. 

By the time you’d hopped out on your cushy flops, the back tires were spinning and off Chad sped, your faithful ride extraordinaire. 

Hair a mess of curls, as you flung your handbag over your arm, you surveyed the motel, a no-tell-motel if you had to say. Calling it a dump would have been offensive to dumps everywhere. In the distance you heard sirens and gunfire. In the parking lot, you saw sex workers and pharmacological dealers. There were cars around in varying states, some had tires while others did not. One was even smoldering it seemed, as you walked by it, remembering the number that Phil had told you.

Could he have possibly found a crappier establishment? Like really? You would ask next time you spoke with the fugitive. Because this, this was just ridiculous. 

Setting off, you trekked across the somewhat lit parking lot.

On one side of the single level motel was a strip club, who’s musical thumping and lights were downright majestic and was still drawing in a steady stream of consumers. On the other, a liquor store, which was also still open and pretty busy. You were impressed. It was quite the busy area.

After shaking your head, to let a car slowly driving by in the parking-lot know, that you unfortunately were not interested in being their date. You hurried ever closer to the motel. Seeing the room number you sought, on the end, furthest away from the front office. 

So close, you were so close.

Hurrying even faster, you made it onto the walkway of the establishment and before you could reach out to knock, the door was opened.

You quickly slipped inside.

***

Steve was going to murder whoever was in the motel room waiting for you, and then, he was going to kill you.

He didn’t know what you were doing.

He knew you weren’t having an affair. He knew you weren’t gambling, because you had an excess of money. He was beginning to wonder if you were selling drugs now. And then, he was going to kill your fucking Uber driver. That man-child was a menace to society. How was he even licensed to drive? Steve wasn’t sure. Steve just knew that fucking asshole was next. Right before he killed the man, he planned to explain what a goddamn turn signal was. 

Mere footsteps behind you.

Steve picked up his pace when the motel room door opened. After it did and you slipped in, his palm fell on it and slammed it open.

You jumped and gasped in shock, sheer shock. 

Eyes wide, mouth gaping, face blanching pale in shock.

Whatever he expected…it wasn’t what he found in that motel room. A room that probably hadn’t been cleaned since the Vietnam war.

Your brother Peter stood behind you in all black. Seated on a hotel bed, set back from the door, were two young children.

So not what he was expecting.

A moment or so passed, as you gaped like a fish and Steve stared in bewilderment. It was Peter who motioned for your husband to come in. “Get in! Quick! Hurry! Before someone sees you!”

You continued to stare at Steve, dressed so un-Steve-like, in sweats and a hoodie, hood up and sneakers on. Steve on the other hand listened to your brother. He stepped in and shut the door, then locked it with an iffy looking chain lock.

“You didn’t tell me you told Steve,” Peter admonished.

You continued to gape.

Not missing a beat, Peter deflated, “You didn’t tell Steve?”

“No she didn’t tell Steve,” your husband snarled, yanked his hood back and looked pointedly at the two staring young kids. “Who’re they and why’re you two here?”

Peter looked to you.

Since you were technically older, you sighed and looked over at the bed. “Cooper and Lila Barton. I got a call that the safe house they were in was compromised and to come pick them up to keep them safe, till Phil could find a new place for them.”

Blue eyes narrowed, he was getting a feeling. Unsure yet if that feeling was good or bad, he pressed on, “Phil who? Phil Coulson? And Barton? Like Clint Barton?”

Nodding was all you and Peter were capable of. The both of you stood there, in a room that smelled suspiciously of Cheetos and motor oil, nodding like a pair of bobble heads doll.

“And how the hell do the two of you know Phil and Clint?”

Phil Coulson and Clint Barton, two names he never ever expected to hear again, especially not like this, never like this.

You might have glanced back at Peter.

Peter may have swallowed, making his Adams Apple bob. “Mister Stark found me. He asked if I would be interested in helping him out. And…you know…” 

Steve sagged, deflating a bit too, understanding that Peter hadn’t listened to him. Understanding that Peter was still going out as a vigilante. And sure enough, just as he expected, Peter had been found out. Although at least it hadn’t been by Hydra. But that answered the connection from Tony to Phil and Clint. “Where the hell is Clint?”

You and Peter were quiet, both your gazes went down.

It didn’t need to be said.

Steve’s next question was just for you. “So, Phil’s giving you the money?”

You were quiet as you considered your answer.

“No, Tony gives her money to help with Morgan and the safe house network,” your younger brother answered.

You glowered at Peter as Steve just looked even more confused. “Who the hell is Morgan? And you? You’re helping out a safe house network?”

Peter opened his mouth.

You whipped around to slap a hand over it. Understanding that your brother had issues with authority figures. “Morgan…” you slowly explained. “Morgan is Tony’s daughter. Who I am watching for the time being. And yes, if by helping out with the safe house network, you mean, am I helping out Maria by running it while she’s helping Phil, then yes, that is exactly what I mean.”

“Maria Hill?”

Peter nodded from beneath your hand, as you carefully answered with a slow, “Yes…but I don’t know where she is. Or where any of the other safe houses are…I’m just picking them up and dropping them off.”

You were lying. 

But that wasn’t what pissed Steve off. What pissed Steve off, was the fact you felt you needed to lie. You felt you needed to try and keep this from him, because you couldn’t trust him. Like he would not help you with this, or that he’d do anything to help Hydra find Shield Fugitives, or any surviving Avengers. Or apparently their kids.

But now was not the time.

Now, in a motel room that was making him itch, was not the time to confront you about this, especially not in front of Peter and Clint’s kids.

“Do you have a place to take them?”

Yes, Peter’s reaction told him yes. 

You were more hesitant, “Maybe…”

Oh for gods sake. Steve looked upwards for guidance, before he then set eyes on you. “I’ll make sure no one is following you and catch up. Do you have a ride to this secondary location?”

Slowly, hesitantly, you nodded, “Yes…my driver.”

Which led to a small outburst from Steve, “There is no way in hell you are getting back in the car with that psychotic piece of shit. He ran over three signs on the way here!”

To which you gasped, your hand came up with index finger extended as your ire grew. “You were following me! Oh my god Steve! Could you be more crazy? And I’ll have you know, Chad’s Uber ride, has steel bumpers! Chad can run over practically anything safely!”

“I don’t care if Chad is the second coming of Christ. You are not getting in a car with that man!”

***

Steve never caught up to you.

Which gave you a considerable amount to think about. 

Were you in trouble? Would he turn you in? You doubted it, but you didn’t know. All you knew was he was livid when you and Peter left the hotel in his truck, because apparently Chad was a rolling Deathwish.

Why hadn’t you told him?

You weren’t sure. You weren’t sure about so much. You wanted to help when you’d been contacted earlier in the year by Tony Stark, so you’d said yes. Things were going well with Steve, surprisingly well. Things were indeed so well, you didn’t want to risk ruining them. Which had been so confusing to you. You didn’t dare bring this up. You had no idea how he’d react and you wanted things to stay the same. You were a coward, plain and simple.

You were too afraid to call him now.

Once you fed Peter and sent him on his merry way, so he could get ready for the ceremony later that afternoon, you headed to go get yourself ready for the day. A shower was a must, to wash the night off you. You’d need to figure out what to do with your hair, now that lush wavy curls were not an option. Maybe a nice up-do? With a pretty hairclip that matched Steve’s suit would work?

Those were the thoughts that went through your head, as you puttered around the master bathroom. As you turned the shower on, as hot as possible. While the water reached a hellish temperature, you brushed your teeth and wondered what the hell Steve was up to? The man was on a one-man killing spree, to wipe out as much of Hydra as possible, till he was found out. Surely, he wouldn’t turn you in for helping out Phil? Or was Steve out digging your grave? Was he mad that you’d been lying and sneaking around behind his back? Which was exactly why you didn’t tell him. His face when he shoved his way in the motel room was shocking. He’d been so mad, so angry and then, so confused and finally just annoyed, as usual, with you. 

You’d known when you married the former Avenger, that you’d have little to nothing in common. That you were vastly different people in every possible way. Compared to Steve, you were nothing. You hadn’t been able to go to college cause of Hydra. You weren’t allowed to work, or live or marry where or who you wanted, cause of Hydra. So maybe you were a little salty about it and took it out on him.

Irritably, you gargled some mouthwash and then hopped into the shower, swearing under your breath about the audacity that had become your life.

Standing under the hot water helped.

Scalding hot showers helped everything.

You let the water wash over you, drench your hair and burn your skin. With your head under the showerhead and all that water, you never heard anything. You didn’t notice a thing. 

Not until the shower curtain was ripped aside.

That got your attention pretty quickly.

It was a blur of white and angry Steve. Angry dirty Steve, in different clothes from before, smelling like smoke. Arms and hands covered with dirt. A few smudges on his neck and face too. Plus what was obviously flecks of blood on his neck, smudged on those thick arms, under his nails.

Unable to help yourself, you screamed. Very not prepared when he came into the shower too. When he yanked the curtain shut, he left a filthy handprint behind. When the water hit his clothes, different clothes from before, jeans and a white t-shirt, the water that came off was reddish brown and left dirt around the drain.

There was even dirt and flecks of something dried in his messy blonde hair.

“Why didn’t you tell me,” he demanded of you, in no uncertain terms.

Your hands went up. “I don’t know! I don’t know!” You shrieked, then, for good measure, added, “I’m sorry!”

And for a second, you weren’t sure if he was going to hurt you or not.

Your heart pounded. It felt like your lungs were up in your throat. A cold chill swept through you and you stared up at him, backed into the corner of the shower. 

In the past, you both had fit in the shower with ease. 

This was different now. You could feel it twisting in your gut and it was way too tight of a space suddenly.

“Stop lying to me,” Steve yelled. Yelled loud enough that you felt something just sort of snap. You shrieked back. Because you may have been something of a screamer and you couldn’t help it if your life was stressful. You hit him. You slapped him in the face and regretted it the second you did it. Both of your hands went up to cover your mouth.

If it bothered him, he didn’t react, other than to scowl and harden his gaze at you. 

Deciding to take a different approach, Steve managed to say through grit teeth, “How long?”

“A few months.”

“Were you planning on telling me?”

You were naked and Steve didn’t care. Which gave him a good gauge of how pissed off he was at you. Although now, now when he looked at you, he was seeing you completely differently. You were still annoying as shit. Hell, you were annoying the shit out of him in that very second. 

But now, when he looked at you, he wasn’t seeing a lose-end that helped him blend in and burn off stress. 

Slowly, you shook your head.

Now, you were the enemy of his enemy. His cerulean eyes took you in as he looked down at you appraisingly. He’d heard rumors of a safe house network, of a resistance. He knew Tony was alive and causing problems for Hydra. But he’d been busy causing his own problems.

“Why,” he demanded in no uncertain terms.

Your eyes went down. You focused on his white wet t-shirt. You weren’t going to say it. You couldn’t say it. It was ridiculous.

Shouting your name, he shoved you and shouted, “Tell me!”

Naturally, this led you to lash out, as you bounced off the shower wall and into him. His hard, unyielding body. In a fit unseen in your household before, you shrieked like you’d never shrieked before, surprising even Steve, who’d become somewhat accustomed to your outbursts.

“Because! You were finally looking at me like I wasn’t the vain of your existence! You were finally treating me like you didn’t think I was the biggest waste of oxygen around! I’m not stupid! I know you don’t want to be married! I know I’m not your dream woman! I don’t exemplify your ideals of perfect womanhood! It’s become quite clear to me, the only time we get along, is when we’re fucking. Excuse me, if I wanted to hold onto that little sliver of not feeling like a total human disaster!”

Steve just stared at you.

Mouth a tight line. Jaw clenched. Eyes narrowed. Nose twitching and hair slowly beginning to stick together and darken under the shower stream.

And then his hands were on your face and his mouth was on yours, and he was kissing you.

Your husband was actually kissing you.

And you were so mad and frustrated and hurt and out of your mind, that you kissed him too. You kissed him back still upset, still raw. But oh god, his hands cupped your face so tightly. His body pressed yours into the shower wall. His mouth was demanding on yours, his tongue was in your mouth exploring. He made your head spin and your hands desperately cling to the wet cotton of the shirt he had on.

And it was ok. This was ok.

It was more than ok.

You couldn’t begin to explain or understand how. All you knew was that it didn’t feel wrong, or like it cheapened the unconditional love you shared with your family. It was different, it was just different. 

And you no longer felt like a betrayal to Steve. That was it. That was what it would have been. An utter betrayal to himself. And sure, you weren’t perfect, as you’d said. Neither was he, not anymore and as much as he had failed Doctor Erskine since Hydra won, he wasn’t going to let Hydra take something else from him.

Both of you yanked the t-shirt over his head. One of his long arms flung it aside somewhere in the shower. Wetly it hit something.

Steve couldn’t stop kissing you. 

He kissed your mouth and your lips, your chin and down your neck. Your arms wrapped around him, as he found his way back up to your face and again. His lips demanded you respond. Your mouth parted and your fingers sank into his filthy hair. Wet denim of his jeans was rough on your bare legs.

As soon and as quickly as he began his assault on your mouth, he was gone. Leaving you stunned and gasping, he pulled out of your grip and you found yourself in a state of shock, maybe? You looked down to see him drop to his knees. You watched him flip your thigh up and set it on his broad shoulder, opening you up for him. It was sudden. Steve slid two fingers up into your folds, spreading your intimate lips wide, allowing him the access he wanted to lick you from your slit to clit. Sucking soundly on your clit, twisting it with his tongue until your fingers found their way into his hair, doing his very best to make depraved noises come from you.

“Oh god Steve…”

You gasped, you cried, sobbed even as he devoured you, slurped noisily on your clit, pushed two fingers into you. He pushed you higher and higher. The back of your head hit the shower wall. Your fingers pulled tightly in his hair. Steve turned his head, sucking harder, toying with your clit with his tongue while curling and stroking your drenched pussy with two thick fingers. Pushing you against the shower wall roughly, sending you up to your tippy-toes in his frenzy.

“Shit Steve…please…”

Steve was going to make you scream. He needed to hear you cry, break, shatter. He needed you to come undone as he had that night. 

You’d woken something up inside of him. Something that he thought had been extinguished and he needed you to feel the same.

“Oh god…just fuck me Steve, put it in me…”

He’d do that too without a doubt.

First though, he wasn’t done fucking you with his mouth and hand. Adding his pinky with two fingers in your pussy, while his index finger slid into your second puckered hole. A throaty gasp came from you in surprise from the anal stimulation. Your fingers in his hair shook, mind going blank as those three fingers sank up into you. Loud wet noises came from down between your legs, where the overwhelming stimulation came, bordering on pain and pleasure. Until your legs began to shake, when it all became too much for you.

Steve took your orgasm until he supported your weight, till he felt your pussy clench around his fingers and your ass pushed his finger out, from the power of your climax. You sobbed his name out in a profanity.

When he got to his feet, he was unbuttoning the jeans and shoving them down while you trembled in aftershocks from him. 

You watched as his dick bobbed when emerging from the wet clothing. 

Erect and angry, oozing from the tip. You couldn’t help but think his penis looked like a beast. Decorated with veins as he pulled back his foreskin, heavy and thick in his hand. A desperate breath escaped from you, when he drug the tip across your stomach, smearing precum along your wet skin.

“You want it?”

Eagerly you nodded.

To your surprise, he kissed you again. This time you could taste yourself on his mouth and tongue and saliva. You could smell yourself smeared on his face. You tried to look down when he hooked a wrist under your knee, lifting up your leg. But he wouldn’t stop kissing you. Not even when he pushed into you and made your mouth O in response.

Steve did take that opportunity, as he mercilessly bottomed out into you, lifting you off your toes as he pinned you to the shower wall, to make a demand. “Don’t you ever go off to meet someone, or pick up something, or anything like tonight again, without me.”

Breathing deeply to acclimate yourself to the intrusion of his cock, you nodded. Fingers scrambling across his expanse of defined shoulders to steady yourself.

He withdrew, only to ruthlessly thrust in, ripping a strangled cry from you. It hurt so beautifully. Sensitive from the orgasm, your walls were rubbed so roughly by such an exquisite cock, you couldn’t stand it. “Got it?” He snarled at you, doing it again, but harder, hard enough to knock shampoo bottles on the shower floor.

If Steve wasn’t careful, he was going to come soon.

Your pussy was just squeezing the ever-loving fuck out of him. And even though you nodded in complete agreement, that was not the answer he was looking for, resulting in him wrapping your legs around his hips. Feeling your nails sink into his shoulders, that feeling never got old.

Neither did the feeling of your tight little cunt.

Sinking fingers into your ass checks, hard enough that he’d leave marks, Steve began to pound you into the wall in earnest. Pumping into you hard enough to bang you into the wall, something would fall, you’d cry out and your eyes would roll, or your perfect little mouth would quiver, then he’d pull out five or six, maybe seven or so inches…only to slam in and enjoy the process, again and again.

“Say it to me. Promise me. Words! Give me words,” he seethed.

He did that for what felt like forever.

He did that well after you screamed your promises, to never do it again, ever, ever ever.

He did that until you lost count of how many times you came, and the water went cold.

He did it until thick strings of your arousal, mixed with his cum, dripped down his thighs, down your ass, dripped into the shower water that ran down the drain.

He did it until he finally stopped. He did it until he decided to turn off the shower water and climb out, finding you suitably incoherent and desperate, until his shoulders and back stung from your raking nails.

Somewhere, between the shower and bed, he kicked off the wet jeans that didn’t belong to him. 

Steve ambled over to the bed where he dropped you down. You bounced on the mattress, dry sheets sticking to your wet body. Remaining there. You stayed on your back, watching your husband, as he worked his dick with one hand.

You had absolutely no idea what time it was, you probably would have been unsure of the day, if someone were to ask. 

In a bit of a haze, you watched him fist his shaft above you. Work it roughly, almost angrily, until he brought himself to another release, spewing milky warm ejaculate down on your chest and breasts.

It fell like delicate raindrops, even though his expression was pained, his chest heaved.

Shockingly blue eyes looked you over. Those eyes came to a stop on the seminal fluid that rested on your skin, as you to breathed deeply. As you sank into the bedding. As water drenched the sheets and you felt his semen and your slippery juices drain from between your legs.

Between his legs, you noticed his hanging sac. For some reason, it transfixed you. How heavy they looked and how you wanted to feel them slap against you, how you wanted to palm them and take them in your mouth.

Licking your lips, you pulled yourself up on your elbows, eased your thighs open, a hot tingling rush filling you. “Again…please…”

Steve would, he would be more then glad to send you over the edge of carnal enjoyment once more. First though, first, setting his knee on the bed, he looked between your legs at his work. White cum and your juices were smeared everywhere, clumped around. Your pussy lips swollen and red. Beautiful, just beautiful. You looked just right covered in his release. It decorated your chest and those tits, little barbells that had blue stones on each end touched his spend. 

Climbing up, he grabbed your thighs and pulled you close, sank into you with a satisfying wet noise. There was no hesitation. No buildup or pause. Again, he began to rail into you. Hands reached down to smear his semen all over your breasts and skin.

Your hands reached for him almost hesitantly.

He came to you without hesitation. Hips never slowing in their pounding you into the bed, slamming the headboard into the wall again and again and again and again. When your chests touched, his spend smeared between you both and the piercings dug into him.

Not that he cared.

Your mouth was on his neck, kissing his throat, licking his pulse and nibbling on his jaw. You hooked your ankles around the small of his back to pull him closer, get him in deeper. Growing louder, the bed squeaked and groaned, something snapped but neither of you cared.

Neither of you cared about being too loud.

Neither of you cared about being late to work.

Neither of you particularly cared much about anything by that point.

All either of you cared about, was that sweet sweet release that was just sneaking up on you both, toying with you, teasing you both. So so very close, just edging up on the brim, taunting so cruelly.

And when it crested, your entire body tightened up as if you’d been electrocuted. Nails sank into his shoulders and you clenched up, you tightened your grip around his chest. Gasping deeply when you were unable to hold your breath any longer, as your orgasm swept over you, drowning you in sensation. You were nothing but one big tight twisted muscle and when Steve came, wrapped in your arms, he swore loudly. His body jerked into you, bounced you up the bed as he released deep within you, flooded you, marked you again with his essence. 

His pelvis slammed into yours loudly, wetly. His balls slapped you with every thrust. He pounded you down into the mattress, again and again. Your marital bed protesting greatly each time. Each time you cried out, you screamed and shouted, as he just would not stop.

Your orgasm continued, rolling over you, making you tremble beneath him as he mercilessly prolonged it.

When it had slowly burnt itself out, when you’d both achieved a state of shattering bliss, you nearly passed out. All you could do was watch him push himself up to his knees, pull his erection from you and watch with a tilted head.

Steve could watch his cum drain out of you all day. He watched your cunt twitch, spasm a bit from the powerful climax he’d given you. As if your walls wanted him to come back, to play more. 

Reaching out, he began to swipe his fingers through to collect every precious drop he could, which he then began to rub around his thick length, followed by your rosebud. Softly, he rubbed your combined slippery fluids around your second entrance as his eyes held yours, waiting for you to say something. When his thumb pressed in with the cooling bodily fluids, you licked your lips. “Do you get off on it? Knowing that during the day, I’m leaking your cum from my ass and vagina?”

All Steve could do was nod in affirmation at your question.

Although, he had one of his own. “You ready?”

Unmoving and boneless on the pillows, you watched him begin to fist his impressive shaft. “I’m never ready to have that thing in my ass. You better make it worth it.”

He would and he did.

Before long, he had you waking up the neighbors.

**Three-ish weeks later…**

“Uh-huh,” you nodded, plastic phone between your shoulder and ear, as you jabbed at a baking dish with an ice pick. Non-stick your foot. You’d used olive oil and everything and yet, you still managed to burn a rotisserie chicken to it. The black smoking bird had set off the smoke detector in your kitchen. After your neighbor in the next house over, whom you could see through her kitchen window across the side yards between your homes, smelled the telltale smells of something burning, she’d called. 

“No, I’d totally love to be in your book club. I think it’s a great idea to get young Hydra wives involved…no, I totally can take off Thursday afternoons for it…”

How the hell did you keep getting talked into these things?

With a yellow dish glove covered hand, you grabbed a bottle of soap on the sink ledge and distantly heard the door from the garage open and close.

Steve was home.

You squirted away, as the blond bobbed neighbor-lady across the way effortlessly washed a dish at her sink.

It wasn’t fair.

Dropping the slippery soap bottle in the dirty sink full of water, you frowned, but went back to work on your scraping.

You’d have to unclog the garbage disposal too. Where the burnt rotisserie had gone and thank goodness you had found a ice pick to hack at it. Steve hid most all his tools after the unfortunate incident with the chainsaw.

“No, I think it’d be a great idea to get a book suggestion from Mister Pierce. I’ll ask him tomorrow…” you nodded, eyeing the black crispy baking dish.

Maybe you needed to just toss it in the recycle bin and focus on unclogging the garbage disposal?

“You know,” Delores cooed at you from over the phone. “I think is it absolutely so cute. You wearing all those retro dresses and hair styles for Captain Rogers. It is just the sweetest thing ever. I just love having the two of you as neighbors. Where did you get that cute dress today at? It just screams garden party.”

You were about ready to add Delores to Steve’s kill list, in all honesty.

Said cute dress had taken forever to get into, due to the tights and lingerie and fluffing the skirts. Plus, you had to iron the cap sleeves. You’d worn it on your wedding and had intentionally picked out a dress that you could wear again. Although you hadn’t planned on re-wearing it that day.

Slamming the skirt of your other Fifties Swing Dress in the kitchen door, and ripping it, had seemed to be the start of a very irritating day. One that Delores had not made any better.

Rattling off the where of which you’d bought the dress, you flung the pan in the sink of soapy water, then sighed.

There would be no saving it.

You’d adjusted the phone and reached to turn the water on, so you could rinse the yellow rubber gloves that reached your elbows. 

You knew exactly what time it was…time to see if Steve wanted to eat take-out or grilled cheese with tomato soup for dinner. And you were about to bid Delores a fond farewell. In order for you to shriek at him from the kitchen, to wherever he was in the house, to ask. When hands suddenly fell on your hips from behind, yanking you back into a wall of muscle.

A genuine shriek did come from you. Water went everywhere and the cordless phone flew in the soapy sink water.

From your window into Delores’s, you could see she too was surprised. But not so much she wasn’t able to wave in a neighborly fashion to Captain Hydra.

It was Steve.

You’d recognize his cologne anywhere.

Turning in his arms, you took in the black and blood red accented stealth suit he had on, making him look even more intimidating. Your ice pick clattered to the floor, as he boxed you against the counter, eyes intent on telling you one thing.

“Pierce invited me to go on the group hunting trip next month.”

Oh, well ‘good for you, Steve,’ you thought.

Not that Steve was done.

Not by a long shot.

He grabbed you around the waist and without any real difficulty, promptly deposited you up on the counter. You, on the other hand, flung your hands out far and wide to grab onto something, all as he flipped up the poofy skirts of your dress. 

Something fabricy ripped that was most definitely your underwear.

Your eyes darted back, to see that Delores was most certainly still watching through her kitchen window. “Jesus Steve, Delores is watching…and you better not rip my garter belt. It took me forever to replace it after last time.”

“Let her watch,” was his response, as he took in the sight between your spread legs. Framed by a garter belt and hose, which was somehow even more mouthwatering to look at. Steve ran two fingers through the plump folds of your pussy. “You’ve got bigger things to concern yourself with…”

Well that was news to you.

You yelped when Captain Hydra himself, complete with the octopus on his chest, leaned down to take your clit between those lush pink lips of his. 

“…put that chaotic little mind to work and think about tragic hunting accidents.”


End file.
